Echo
by StarsOfYaoi
Summary: *GerIta* gift-fic for drcalvin. It is hard to cope with your past and with your shame, even if it's not really your fault. It is harder to accept and let go. Germany slowly comes through, and Italy is always at his side, through history, through time.


**SOY:** I wanted to post this fanfic here as well, please enjoy.

This fic has been written as a gift to drcalvin on LJ. Heavy on history, GerIta, with a lemon.

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**Rating**: R for the fic, MA for the ending Lemon.

**Warnings:** Angst, mentions of war, contained Lemon in the end, if you're squicky with gay sex, please stop at the word 'OMAKE'.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia. But I love working through fanfics of it.

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**Echo**

**One–shot**

…… _**October 18, 1945 **__……_

The court room was big, but the meagre number of humans inside made it seem far bigger, and the tension spiralling higher was choking and heavy and painful.

Outside, as if to parade the multitude of emotions of the people in the room, it was raining; big, heavy raindrops fell like there was no tomorrow, whilst the thunders kept rumbling in the background, reminding the presents of their presence.

_It was not ok._

America was standing to the side, face twisted in a confused, pained scowl –by far, Alfred had seen his fair share of things but this _process_, this _thing_ they were holding, was on a whole different level.

He was made of action, of sudden moment's spurt, of impulsive actions, sometimes rash, sometimes too bold…

He could not stand to stay still, and observe, and _face_ all of this and _witness_ all of this.

England and Russia had a different countenance, exhausted but standing still next to their respective sides, both silent, both unwavering despite the way they kept straightening, as if their shoulders were too heavy, as if gravity bound them in a much graver way.

They had seen… this was not different. Penalties were called, judgement invoked and forced, and _this was not different_.

Except that it might be, in the end. When all was said and done.

France was sitting somewhere in the back, nursing his pained wounds, and for once there wasn't an ounce of cheerfulness visible in his stance, eyes or face. Pale skin, battered body, Francis was there by pure, sheer luck –he wasn't a winner, but a casualty himself.

All of them had the look of soldiers, far too young and yet with seasoned eyes, called to assist at the attempts to call forth a justice that had lacked strength for the last few years, just as bruised and battered and lost.

Humans and nations were mixed together in the same room, where differences mixed and separated in only two categories –not winners and losers, but captors and captives.

And on the opposite line, a single, solitary Nation, sitting in the back, eyes to the floor, ignoring what was transpiring.

Trying to ignore his loss.

Germany was _not_ standing.

They had not chained him, because there was no reason to –he was conquered, he was defeated, there was no strength in his muscles, no light in his eyes.

He was alone, uncaring to defend himself, because there was nothing to say.

"Herman Göring, for the participation in a common plan or conspiracy for the accomplishment of crime against peace, this jury declares the accused… _guilty_. For the planning, initiating and waging wars of aggression and other crimes against peace, this jury declares the accused… _guilty_. For war crimes, this jury declares the accused… _guilty_. For crimes against humanity, this jury declares the accused… _guilty_. Herman Göring, you are sentenced to death".

Germany winced, but otherwise showed no reaction as the process continued; three pairs of eyes drifted away from him, unable to keep on looking as the once proud nation crumbled in front of their eyes.

So, everything amounted to this.

A process of accuses and evidence and cold eyes and death.

And the worst was, Germany approved. Deep inside him, deeper than his anger, deeper than his pain, even deeper than his trembling nerves, Germany knew he deserved every single ounce of pain.

"Erns Kaltenbrunner, you are sentenced to death".

For what his own soldiers had caused, for every single death carved upon his body, mapping his cities, tracing every single _goddamn fucking camp_.

Oh, so many. So many.

No process would ever give those lives back. Lives lost in the war Germany had fought himself, in first line, not understanding.

Not even when his own people died, not even when his soldiers turned against each other. Not even when the camps burned with grey smoke and hid away, turning snow into blood.

What pain could be greater? For a Nation to know of having failed? For a Nation to know that the war had turned into a massacre, into a bloodbath that had less to do with a fight and more to do with power and greed and desire and–

"Wilhelm Keitel, you are sentenced to death".

Twenty-four accused war criminals and six criminal organizations.

The world had not crumbled, and yet now Germany was divided in four parts, weakened, crushed, his brother taken away, his allies gone, what he had lived up until then revealing its true colours, showing its poisonous fangs.

In the end, he was _alone_.

Germany fought back his bitter tears, knowing they'd be useless.

…… _**October 16, 1946**_ ……

Italy couldn't stand this.

Everything was done with clipped, rehearsed movements, without speaking, barely pausing for a second in order to think, or… anything.

One by one, their lives were ripped away from their bodies, yanked by a dirty, strong rope, leaving behind their bodies hanging in silence. Not a single noise could make it past the first row of people watching, eyes burning the scene in their minds, forever to stay.

Would those humans be haunted by this sight?

Would the bodies, rocking slightly by the waves of motion from the rope, until they stilled completely, burn through their brains, without possibility to be forgotten?

Would nightmares refresh those images, bringing forth even worse ones, of blood and explosions and confusion and smell of gunpowder and sweat and soil?

Italy knew that this would be his future, at least until he could hide it all away and smile again. And something similar would happen to…

Oh, Germany.

Germany was standing in the first row, his back straightened up, body covered with clean bandages, clearly visible under his mussed, old clothes, eyes staring forwards, unmoving, looking maybe strong, maybe determined, maybe just waiting for it to finish… but Italy knew better; the way those shoulders sagged, the way those once bright eyes were empty and void, the way his fists clenched and clenched and _clenched_, and the only thing Italy wanted to do was run to him and hug him close and cry, and force Germany to cry, too, because it was ok to be weak for once… because it was ok to let go.

And yet, Germany was too far away.

It wasn't a matter of physical distance… a few meters in reality, but an entire world away.

Italy had failed, as a friend, as a Nation, as an ally.

Uselessly acting cheerfully, trying to forget he was at war, trying to just exist and live and smile, and then everything would be fine… ignoring the details and taking things for granted, minimizing the truth.

Then the betrayal.

His brother siding with the allies, his boss demanding him to follow…

He had not spoken to Germany since then. Since the end of the war, since before the processes. He felt too much of a coward to even step towards him, he felt that even Germany's human name was too much for him to utter… he was a weak coward, and he had failed.

Again, he had failed. Just like always.

He had left his Germany alone to face this pain, face the errors of his humans, and whilst none of them had gotten out from it on their legs, Italy knew that Germany was the one hurting the most. His beliefs had been crushed, his trust broken.

Italy had to bear his own faults on his back, nurture wounds and accept that it was better like this. That Germany would be better by himself. Better without a stupid ally demanding for pasta and siesta and soccer and unable to fight.

Oh, he _longed_ to be there, at his side –he longed for that time to come back, it was a desire so strong it was almost physically solid for him to touch… so close… so _real_…

That just holding out his hand, he would be able to make it all go away.

"G…"

"Don't look".

Italy flinched, blinking to chase tears away, and the world returned into focus. His half–raised hand fell back at his side, and Romano took a hold of it, not to give or take comfort, but to restrain.

"Don't _look_" he repeated. And of course, he was not referring to the bodies rocking to silence, but to the pained, pathetic figure standing there.

Italy closed his eyes and turned away from the execution.

From Germany.

'_And I'm running away again'._

…… _**August 13, 1961**_ ……

Italy gulped down his uneasiness, staring in front of him, hands clutching at his shirt like a lifeline.

He was standing there, in front of Germany's house, and all of his carefully built strength, all of his determination, that he had taken more than ten years to grow, had vanished completely, leaving him feeling cold and hesitant and helpless.

Why was he standing there, in the end?

'_I… I need to see Germany'._

Fifteen years. Fifteen years since he had seen him last, alone, standing in front of the hanged soldiers. Fifteen years since he'd heard his voice, hugged him, looked into his eyes.

He hadn't known, back then, that it would hurt this much. He hadn't known that his resolve to let Germany go would pain him so much, would be so devastating.

He hadn't known, back then, that he was in love, either. He had never thought it would be possible for him to love someone else again, after Holy Roman Empire; that someone would replace him in his heart, filling it with warmth and desire to be close.

"_Italy, please. Go see Germany"._

Austria's voice had been pleading. His calm, collected face had been twisted with worry, something Italy had never seen before on the usually composed Austrian aristocrat. Brushing away the bangs from his eyes, Roderich had looked right into Feliciano's eyes.

"_He won't allow any of us to get close. He's breaking away, and it's not right. Italy, he's young. He doesn't understand that whatever war might happen, we Nations will still be the same. He's berating himself for the war, he's not letting us help"._

Until then, Italy had been so sure Germany was healing.

But Austria had been right. They all kept forgetting just how young Germany truly was, how none of his previous wars could have ever prepared him for something this sudden and big and painful.

How he still didn't understand that he could not control what his humans grew up into…

"_It's bad now, they've decided to build a wall to separate the German territories under Russia from those under control of America, England and France… Germany closed himself off, and we've been unable to shake him out"_ Austria's eyes, filled with pain and helplessness, made Italy want to yell.

"_What can I do that you were unable to?"_ he had wanted to back down, because if he were to see Germany, he would never be able to leave ever again.

He feared for the return to their stability, to their normality… because things changed, and Italy longed and missed Germany, but knew he _couldn't_–

"_You're Italy"_ Hungary had replied, whilst holding both of his hands. _"That's all that is needed"._

But was it the truth?

Why would that be enough?

Italy lightly kicked the door, and was surprised when, with a click, it opened. Blinking, the Italian Nation felt his legs move of their own accord, stepping inside the entryway, hesitant. His instincts were yelling at him to run, and run fast, but the sight of dust covering the floor and the furniture stopped him.

Everything was…

Dirty. Messy.

Covered with layers of dust.

Worry blossomed in his heart with the strength of a thousand bombs exploding together, and then he was running through the corridors, slamming each door open to peer inside.

The sitting room, once so spotless and clean, was in clear disarrange, and empty. The paintings on the walls were gone, the busts of German soldiers covered with stained sheets, no longer white.

The kitchen also didn't look used, and Italy felt his heart constrict even more.

'_Germany…'_

He ran upstairs, slipping and falling on his knees, only to stand up again and keep going, panicking the more he checked.

No room looked used. No room looked lived in.

The warm, attentive presence of its owner was gone.

"Germany!"

Slamming the door of the bedroom open, the same room he'd sneaked in so many times to curl at Germany's side, Italy froze, words dying on his lips.

There he was.

Sitting on the bed, that looked crumpled and unmade and dusty, too, Germany felt more like remains than an actual nation; darkened shadows under his eyes, slumped shoulders, messy hair, Germany looked anything but the proud nation Italy had grown to love.

This was Germany. What the war had done to him. Reduced him into this frail person, lost in grief, unable to understand and let go…

The sight broke what was left inside the Italian's heart.

'_I should have reached out before… it was almost too late…'_

"G–Germany…" he breathed out.

The figure on the bed twitched and turned around, shifting in the half–darkness of the room, blinking warily at the door, eyes widening in shock.

"It…" the voice rasped, trying to find strength in a raw, dry throat, then died altogether.

Germany shifted, and Italy could see, through tear–filled eyes, that he was holding a photo in his hands, fingers clenched around a ruined frame; he didn't need to look at it to know who it depicted.

"Oh, Germany…"

He stepped forwards into the room, almost reverently, and hid his twinge of pain when Germany shifted away from him, eyes fixed on him, waiting and afraid. He looked ready to jump and run away, and at the same time, frail enough to disappear if a whiff of wind hit him.

But still Italy didn't stop.

Austria and Hungary had been right, in the end. This was something only he could do… offer Germany something of his.

He'd wronged the other Nation in more ways than one, but the worst betrayal had nothing to do with the war. He'd betrayed Germany's trust by not being at his side during the aftermath, allowing him to drown in his pain alone.

"I'm sorry, Germany…"

The blond nation's shoulders trembled, but the spell broke, and Germany stood up, refusing to look at Italy anymore.

"Go out" he hissed, his tone unable to hide the pain edging inside him.

Italy's hand, that had been moving towards him, stilled in mid–air.

"No" he replied, his own tone softening. "I cannot let you alone".

"I've been alone until now. You were doing it just _fine_ before, go back to your house".

Feliciano winced, but this time, he couldn't back away.

"No".

"_Go away_!"

Germany turned around again, glaring at Italy with eyes full of pain and betrayal and self–hatred, and the brown haired Italian cried harder.

"I'm sorry I left you all alone" he hiccupped, rubbing the tears away. "I'm sorry I thought you'd need time to sort yourself out, I'm sorry I betrayed you again… I won't leave anymore… I promise you I won't leave…"

"I don't care! Why should you be here?! you betrayed me once, and I hurt you back! So why would you want to–"

Feliciano moved forwards again, tentatively holding out his hand –bandages on his wrist visible under his own sleeve– to brush at Ludwig's face.

Germany reacted, lashing out, punching Italy's face and sending his sprawling backwards with a yell.

Italy fell on his back and hissed in pain, as his own wounds flared up, blinding him and taking his breath away; he remained on the floor, waiting for the white spots to disappear, all the time gasping in pain, and then slowly stood up again, wheezing.

When he looked up, he noticed Germany's widened eyes stare at his own hand in shock.

"Ve~, it's ok" he murmured.

The punch hurt less than it had back then.

Arms trembling, Germany backed away. "I told you to leave!"

Shaking his head, Feliciano stepped forwards again. There was nowhere Ludwig could go to, as he was standing between him and the door, and he would not reach the window either… and even though there was a possibility he would leash out again, Feliciano knew it was remote enough not to be worried about it.

"It's ok" he repeated.

Slowly, as if trying to get close to a cornered beast, Italy raised his arms and gently touched the other nation's face; the contact sent sparkles down his fingers and he shivered. It had been so long, so long…

"I'm here, now. I'm here".

Gently he fell against Germany's chest, hugging that bigger frame against his.

After long, pained seconds that felt like hours, Germany's arms curled around his own frame, holding him close.

Then they both started crying.

…… _**March, 1988**_ ……

"Ve~ Germany… they're trying to mess with the borders again…"

Blinking, Germany shifted positions and leaned backwards, glancing past the windowpane at what Italy was pointing at.

People were crowding together to watch, from windows, balconies and on the street, at the huge mass of young people running around, bringing forth huge banners that insulted construction measures of the senate.

"Are those… punks?"

Italy hummed, taking a sip of cool water as he kept his eyes glued to the commotion. "They've been going like this for a few days now".

Germany sighed and rubbed a spot between his eyes, returning his attention to the book he was reading; since the completion of the Berlin Wall, which had separated the city in two parts, he had moved from his bigger house deep into West territories to a small apartment in the West–controlled side of Berlin, which ironically enough was in the East territories.

From his apartment, on the second floor of a tall building, he could look at the wall, and at the plaza underneath, a small triangle of territory called Lennè which was on _this_ side of the wall but was under control of the East.

One of the various faults people found in the wall was that in certain spots, it did not exactly follow the borders dividing the city. Four hectares of territory in _Potsdamerplatz_ were actually East Berlin territories, but on the West's side of the wall.

During the first few weeks of march, punks had created some sort of shanty town right in the middle of this territory, and used it as a base to hide once their commotions and processions called forth policemen, who could not enter the triangle of Lennè because it was out of their jurisdiction.

Somehow, Germany found the notion amusing.

"They're being chased again" Italy chuckled, opening the window to wave as a familiar white haired personification ran first line to get away from the police.

"I'm afraid the situation won't keep on like this for long" he muttered. "You should let Gilbert know that our Senate is according to gain control of it by June, so he will be able to find a way out when it gets legal".

It was also not a surprise that Gilbert kept moving from one side of the wall to the other in order to stir up danger.

Italy smiled at him, jumping away from the windowpane to curl at his side, staring up at him with big, brown eyes.

After a second of hesitation, and with flushed cheeks, Germany shifted his arms away so Italy could settle down on his lap, purring contentedly; things had… not exactly returned to how they were before, but between them things _had_ changed.

A lot.

This was why Italy spent so much time with him, as they both recovered from their wounds. And this was why they had moved to Berlin, after the wall got completed.

In a way, Germany had never truly realised just how dependant he had grown to be on Italy, instead of it being the opposite. The Italian's cheerfulness, his smiles, his carefree attitude, all of it had turned into an anchor he held tightly onto.

When the wall had been started, Germany had felt utterly lost. Detached and in despair. He had isolated himself from the other Nations, not understanding why they could act so nice to him after everything that had happened, after all of the pain he had helped inflict on them, after the horrors WWII had caused…

He had wanted them to hate him. He had _needed_ them to hate him.

Just like he had hated himself. Just like he had tried to hate Italy, without managing that out. Spiralling downwards and hoping against hope that something could change.

And then Italy had come.

They had cried and yelled and explained, and Germany had opened his heart for the first time in centuries, and Italy had done the same.

Yes, things had changed, morphed into something comfortable, stable… it was just the two of them, even though Italy still marched around to meet and chat with others, and sometimes Ex–Prussia also popped up, before Russia could manage to get his paws on him…

But mainly it was just them, until Germany could find enough strength to face the other Nations.

It was good enough.

"I'll cook some of your wurst for dinner" the Italian murmured, peeking at the book Germany was reading with clear distaste "just remember tomorrow it's pasta~"

The blond Nation rolled his eyes but hummed and nodded, and the two fell into a comfortable silence, the only noise coming from outside, yells and orders and confusion.

…… _**June 1st, 1988**_ ……

"Ve~ It was just as you said, Ger… Ludwig~"

Italy looked in amazement as a crowd of punks ran towards the wall, laughing and yelling loudly in excitement, as citizens of Berlin stared at them, some also laughing, some cheering them on.

Germany nodded mutely, standing with his back against the wall of a nearby house as he watched the policemen move towards the Triangle of Lennè. The Senate had finally managed to get that four hectares of street to become Western territories, and the policemen, feeling vindictive and righteous, were now running to it with tear gas.

"At least that idiot of a _Bruder_ had enough decency to plot things out correctly, for once" he murmured, voice low so not to attract any attention. "If things go as planned, those policemen will not get their vengeance".

Italy chuckled, one hand worming its way into Germany's own, their fingers intertwining together. Almost unknowingly, Germany leaned on Italy's side, who chirped in reply and cuddled next to him.

It felt perfect. Having Feliciano again at his side, holding his hand, eating together… maybe this period wasn't as good as it could be, but to have Italy at his side helped him go through. It was only thanks to him that he and Gilbert could talk to each other.

With small touches and his presence, the something eating away at Germany's heart had been soothed and calmed. And on his own, Germany had tried to help Italy regain his own smile. It had taken him years to notice how, despite being at his side and helping him, Italy's face had never truly shifted to one of happiness.

Just as much as Germany, Italy too, had been hurt by the war. By what Germany's soldiers had done, by the repeated attacks at the Italians, and by Germany's own pain.

This last part was what hurt Germany the most, but he had learned to cope with it, promising himself to never allow Italy to feel worry ever again; and whilst Italy helped him cope with who he was and how it was _not_ his fault, Germany had also tried to gain Italy's smile back.

And oh, it felt good to be able to look at the Italian and be greeted by that kind of warm, open smile Italy reserved to those he cared for.

They were both resting and healing together.

"Oh, look~ he's coming!" Italy bounced up and down, trying to look above the humans in front of him, watching as the ruckus became even more chaotic.

The punks started running, climbing up the wall at once, whilst policemen ran towards them, ready to engage battle.

"And here we go!" Gilbert was the first to reach the top of the wall, balancing almost precariously on it and waving his arms around. He was smirking devilishly at the guards, and helping more of the humans around him to climb up and jump on the other side, where they were being waited for. "To hell with this all! I'm just too awesome to cower!"

"Prus… Gilbert!" Italy exclaimed, excitedly waving at the other Nation. "Take care~"

Gilbert, once known as Prussia, met his brother's eyes above the crowd of fighting, running and climbing citizens, and slowly lifted two fingers in a small salute.

Germany took a deep breath, lifting his own hand to answer.

Even though they were still separated by a physical wall, their pacing and walking would, one day, surely bring them together again.

It was another small step towards something better. They were all healing, his brother, too. it wouldn't take much more, he was sure of it. The citizen were stirring up, the wall would one day be taken down, and Germany felt it deep inside his body.

His brother Gilbert was also changing, had accepted his status and position, and was making the best out of it, like always.

Gilbert jumped on the other end, followed by all his fellow punks, and disappearing from view.

Italy continued waving for a bit more, then wrapped both of his arms around Germany's own, purring up at him.

Germany allowed the warmth of the other to seep to him, and closed his eyes. He had avoided meeting any other nation apart from Italy and his own brother, even though the two of them had never managed to meet at less than a few meters of distance, but now…

If things kept changing, maybe he could do his part to help them change.

It was about time.

"It… Feliciano" he gulped down his uneasiness, clearing his throat when those brown eyes looked up at him in curiosity "do you think… Kiku will be willing to meet me, now?"

Italy's bright, sunny smile as an answer brought one to his lips, too.

…… _**October 03, 1990**_ ……

"Just calm down… I want to know why you deemed it necessary to come over to my house at this ungodly hour just to mess with my mind" Austria dignifiedly rolled his eyes, sipping from his cup of tea and glaring at Germany, who was busy fidgeting and ignored him.

"Oh, shush, Roderich" Hungary leaned forwards to fix Germany's tie, like a dotting mom (or a soon–to–be stalker), smiling at the younger country. "Ludwig here simply wants everything to look good, right Ludwig?"

Germany flushed under the searching gaze, terribly nervous.

And yet, Hungary was right, of course.

"It's just Italy" Austria grumbled under his breath, hoping for Germany to just leave so he could go show his annoyance at the piano. "It's not like he'll notice, the dunce".

Hungary slapped him on the back of his head, turning around to sweetly smile at Germany, who gulped down his uneasiness. "Oh, don't listen to Roderich, he's just grumpy".

It was October the third. It was a very important day for Germany, a day that signed the end of his inner conflicts, of his pain.

After being divided for so much, Germany was finally _whole_ again. The Berlin Wall had started being demolished by people the previous year, and was being taken down by the military earlier this year, but _this_ was the day the two parts of Germany were formally reunited under the same name.

And it was on this same day that Germany decided to finally confess his feelings to Italy.

They had walked together since the very start, bonding and managing to stand back up through difficulties, but there was one thing Germany had been waiting, and it was to be once again, complete.

And now that he was, now that his brother was again with him, now that he felt finally a Nation again… he could tell Italy what he had realised himself after so many years spent together.

How Italy had ended up being so important to him that Germany couldn't but want more. How the Italian, and his smile, had caught his heart and tied it and held it in his hands.

And how he hoped Italy would feel the same.

Straightening up, and throwing a thankful glance at Hungary and Austria, Germany swallowed hard and moved to the door.

"Just…" Germany stilled, not turning around, but waiting for Austria to finish "good luck, Ludwig".

He smiled slightly and nodded, leaving the house. Austria and Hungary smiled at each other, hands intertwining.

…………………

At Italy's house, Germany had to pause in front of the door, gathering his guts; he had managed a war, he could surely work through this evening as he had hoped to…

"Ve~ Germany~!" Italy smiled at him. He had asked the brown haired Nation to dress with his best suit, and it looked like he had been granted that wish. "Why did you ask me to dress up?"

Italy looked positively handsome.

Germany felt a lump form in his throat and willed it down. It was not the time to cower.

"We celebrate, Feliciano" he replied, smiling at the other Nation. "From today onwards, there is a single Germany again".

He could see the emotions flicker on the Italian's face with the clarity of a crystal –surprise, and then sheer happiness started radiating from him in waves. A second later, he had an armful of Italy clinging at his chest.

"I'm so happy, Ludwig! It was finally time! I'm so happy!"

Germany nodded, mutely hiding his face deep into the brown hair of the Italian, hugging him close as well.

It would go well, and even if it didn't, he knew how things were, now. After so many years, he had finally learned how things worked out. If Italy didn't return his feelings, much like back then during the war, then they'd still be friends.

He wasn't sure if it would be enough to him, but he could start reconstructing things from there, and who knew…? They were Nations. They had time.

"Ve~ let's make this a wonderful evening then!" Italy smiled, grabbing Germany's arm and allowing the taller Nation to show him the way. Then he faltered and stopped, making Germany also stop. "Say, Ludwig… shouldn't you… ve~, shouldn't you be celebrating with Gilbert and not… and not me?"

Germany smiled down at him.

"No, Gilbert will… celebrate this on his own. I wanted to spend this evening with you instead" saying this, he flushed hard.

Italy felt his own cheeks redden in sympathy, and nodded.

The evening passed quickly, maybe a bit too quickly, at least in Germany's perspective. Dinner was just as pleasant, despite Italy declaring he wanted some pasta whilst they were at a French restaurant, and thus having an embarrassed waiter run from the kitchen to their table in order to meet his client's request at the best of his possibilities.

Moving back to Italy's house, later in the evening, Germany felt his heart suddenly take on a much faster tempo, so fast he had to stop twice to calm himself down.

"Italy, I need… I need to talk with you, do you think I could enter for a moment?"

"Ve, Ludwig~" motioning for Germany to enter and sit down, Italy smiled at him expectantly. "What happened? I haven't seen you this hesitant since last time you attempted to tell Gilbert to lay off the alcohol".

And as Italy said this, Germany realised just how silly he must have looked to the other, and yet, at the same time, as Italy smiled at him and nodded in consent, Germany felt his reassurance slowly come back.

There was no reason to panic or freak out. It was Italy. It was _his_ Italy.

He knew Feliciano. And Feliciano knew him. They had… a different sort of bond, one that went deeper than a normal bond. They had been close, first allies then friends, then… sharing tears and pain, and…

Italy had seen him at his lowest twice, and he had seen Italy break down as well. They knew the other enough to be able to read in the mood.

He couldn't let this moment waste away, because that was it.

"Feliciano, I've been in love with you for a long time" he stated, his voice serene and calm. "I've waited for this moment to tell you this, because I needed to be whole again before attempting it right".

Italy smiled then, one of those warm smiles he only reserved to Germany, and in that moment, the blond Nation just knew everything would be ok.

"Silly Ludwig~" leaning forwards, Italy pressed his lips against Germany's in a chaste kiss. "I've been waiting for you to tell me this for a long time, too".

Germany flushed hard. Ok, he had not expected this reply. "A–ah?"

"Yes" Italy shifted to sit on Germany's lap, staring at the other Nation right in the eyes. He hesitated, as if searching for something in those blue eyes, then nodded. "Ever since… ever since a long time, I've always loved you".

How strange those words sounded in Germany's mind, reminding him of something, and yet the memory escaping him, but he didn't dwell on them too much. He had… he had Italy in his arms, and everything was just good enough.

For those words to recall familiarity, there would be enough time later.

"Since when did you…" Germany had to fight his blush down to ask, and Italy simply intertwined their fingers together, pressing soft kisses on the other's knuckles.

"Even before the end of the war" he admitted, looking to the side.

"Why didn't you… " Germany noticed the growing blush on the Italian's cheeks and flushed hard again, despite his best attempts at stopping. "Why didn't you answer yes back then? When I… proposed…" he chocked on his embarrassment, hiding his face in one hand.

His reply was a long, amused chuckle. Probably at the memory of a tomato ring (that still resided in the depths of Germany's hidden drawer). Italy leaned forwards, pressing his cheek against Germany's chest.

"You didn't love me back then. I was waiting for you to realise the truth, not propose only because you thought it was the right think to do".

There was a long pause.

"… I don't like it when you're right" Germany mumbled, frowning. "It's like a prelude to some sort of calamity".

Then he kissed the bubbling laughter out of Italy's lips.

…… _**Omake**_ ……

"Kiss me again, Ludwig…"

Germany took a shuddering gasp as he felt Italy shift on top of him, brushing against something of his that… well, that quite liked the contact.

"Ve~ Germany? Something's poking at…" Italy's previous confused face turned into realisation and he flushed hard, stilling. "Oh".

"I–it's not like you think!" Germany looked to the side, completely embarrassed, and wished he could disappear completely. "I… just… you…"

"Aw, Ludwig…" Italy shifted a bit more, opening his legs wide and pressing his front against Germany's stomach, making him feel that he was not the only one with a small problem. "Me too!"

Germany wanted to slam his head against the wall. How could Italy be so… so… unashamed?

"Feliciano… you…" he groaned, shaking his head.

"Ve~?"

The blond let out a quiet chuckle, then tried to push the Italian off his lap, but Italy let out an undignified squeak and held onto him, making their clothed erections brush against each other; Germany stilled, and Italy let out a quiet moan.

"I–Italy, we should… uh, what–"

"Shouldn't we just… indulge?" and God, why did Italy look so edible when he looked at him like this?

Flushing even harder, Germany tried to find a reason to say no –he remembered the few things he'd read in that infamous book back in the forties, but… he wasn't sure how it worked. He had never tried, he had no one to try with, except Italy, and for obvious reasons Italy was off-limits…

Until now.

B–but Italy was a male.

He realised where he could… but still… and yet…

"Ludwig, I want you~"

'_Oh, mein Gott'_ swallowing an even larger lump in his throat, Germany felt twice as embarrassed as with those words, his body had responded accordingly, growing even harder. What could he say against it?

Absolutely nothing, because he wanted Italy just as much.

Taking a deep breath, Germany leaned over, locking lips with Italy, who moaned in appreciation and held him closer, arms wound around the taller frame, shifting to press their chests together.

Germany gulped down his uneasiness, hesitantly holding Italy's body and kissing him, whilst the Italian quickly took the control of the kiss, showing that his lack of experience could be easily substituted with enthusiasm.

Italy's hands traced his shoulders, moving lower to his chest and starting to open his shirt, one button at a time; refusing to back down himself, Germany shook off his shirt and untied Italy's, who dropped it on the ground and smiled in appreciation.

"I've always wanted to do this…" with no further warning, he leaned forwards to press his lips against Germany's neck, sucking on it.

"Wa–wait, Feliciano–" Germany hissed at the feeling, and to distract himself from the growing pleasure, he pressed his hands on the other's chest, brushing against his nipples and feeling the lither frame shudder under his ministrations.

They moved slowly, hesitantly, discovering each other's bodies with quiet, vague touches and strokes, kisses trailed down pale skin, tongues flickering to taste, fingers lowering to hold and brush, groans echoing in the room, breaking the silence.

Sound of clothes falling on the ground, forgotten and unwanted.

"L–Ludwig… ahn…" Italy arched his back breath coming out in quick gasps. "N–need…"

Germany stilled, trying to make his brain work. He had a vague idea on how to work, but he was sure he'd need something to ease his way in; looking around, he tried to stand up, but once again Italy stopped him.

"Feliciano… we need something to…"

Italy blinked in confusion, tilting his head to the side. "Uh… what do you want to do, exactly?"

Germany felt his cheeks redden again. "You… you don't know?"

Another bright chuckle, and Italy leaned forwards to kiss his lips, "I trust Ludwig" he stated, eyes warm and open.

And despite the sudden need to bash his head against the wall, Germany felt oddly touched by this complete trust.

He manoeuvred Italy off, ignoring his disappointed cry, and stood up himself, still painfully hard. "Go… uh, go wait in the bedroom" he mumbled, terribly embarrassed to be standing there, mostly naked, and ready to do… well, _that_. "I'll be quick".

"I hope not" and with a wink, Italy was off.

Germany slammed his head against the wall.

Carefully weighing his options, Germany quickly moved to the bathroom, searching for something, anything that he could use as a lubrication… and stilled.

Right on top of the small cabinet in Italy's bathroom, there was a small basket with a bottle of clear, lilac liquid and a small message attached to it. It read _'just in case you might end up needing it… I trust you to know what do to with this.'_

It was not signed, but the blond haired nation face–palmed, knowing exactly who had left that one there.

For a moment, he was very tempted to ignore it, then Italy's voice reached him from the bedroom.

"Ve~ Ludwig…"

He made his decision, grabbing the bottle of lube and running to his lover. He'd have to thank… or berate… the culprit later. Maybe the next day.

Entering the bedroom made Germany forget everything about whom had sent the lube, because the sight of a now completely naked Italian, spread on the bed sheets and waiting for him was enough to send sparkles through his whole body.

He sank into the mattress, feeling oddly excited, and cradled Italy in his arms, kissing him again. He could feel the Italian's body tremble against his own, probably feeling the same excitement and tension he felt, and it helped him calm down a bit.

Slowly, he pushed Italy down on the mattress, gulping at the enticing sight. If he ever had any real hesitations about this, they all vanished now. A naked Italy was such a common sight for him, during all their life spent together, that it shouldn't feel so different now, and yet, it was.

This naked Italy was aroused and blushing for him, spread and waiting and trusting and…

"It'll… it'll hurt a bit" he murmured. Corking the bottle open, he let a good amount of the liquid onto his fingers.

For a moment, he stared between his hand and where he had to stick his fingers, then he kneeled and kissed Italy, almost forcefully, bringing him back to his lap, coaxing an answer out of the Italian, whilst he probed and pushed one finger in.

It felt… weird. Weird but hot, and tight, so very _tight_…

Would it even fit?

Italy bit down on Germany's lower lip, hands coming to hold his shoulders as he probed deeper, inserting a second finger to stretch the walls.

"Ahn… it… it feels strange…" Italy winced, clinging at Germany's body.

"Hang on" he rasped, the sight and scent and feeling of Italy in his arms making his grow even more aroused than he was already.

He worked diligently, as it was his custom, probing and pushing and searching, losing himself in the motions without even realising it, breathing in Italy's scent, his other hand daring to thread lower, to brush against his lover's weeping erection, to touch and caress the skin, and…

"Ahn~!"

He was startled out of his trance when Italy twisted in his arms, arching his back and bucking on his fingers, managing to impale himself on them, and moaning unashamedly.

Germany stilled completely, too shocked to understand what was happening, and Italy groaned, nailing at his naked back.

"P–please, Ludwig… do that a–again…"

Tentatively, Germany pushed his fingers inside again, and was rewarded by a long, lustful groan.

'_Oh… so that is…'_

"Ludwig… i–it's not enough… I need… _ah_…"

Slipping his fingers out of Italy, Germany stood still for a moment, unsure on what to do next, then carefully parted his legs, and positioned himself in-between them. "I'm… I'm pushing in now" he murmured.

Italy nodded, holding out one hand for him to grab, and he smiled, grateful for the offer.

And then he was pushing in.

The world lost consistence around him, until nothing existed but the tight heat completely surrounding him, burning its way to every inch of his body, making him shudder and lose control.

He stilled only when he was completely sheathed, and he let out a shuddering breath then, only his control over himself allowing him not to ram inside.

"F–Feliciano…" he moaned, unable to restrain himself.

"_T–ti amo_, Ludwig…"

Germany's eyes snapped open and he stared down in shock, the sight mesmerizing and burning its way inside his brain; Italy was flushed, eyes glazed over, trembling as much as Germany was, legs wide, erection leaking of precum.

It was clear that Italy was barely restraining himself too.

Could there be addiction to this? To this scent, this person, writhing underneath him, offering Germany all of himself, his heart, his body, his everything?

If there could be addiction, Germany had fallen hard, and would never get enough of it.

"Ludwig…"

He started to move.

Slow at first, watching every single instant of pleasure flickering on Italy's face, how his body shivered and trembled as he moved torturously slow, in and out and in again, then the pleasure became too much for him, too, and he set on a faster, harder pace, quickly losing control.

It was _too much_

Overwhelming, breathtaking –pleasure steadily growing, expanding…

"Ludwig… ahnnnnn~"

Washing over him, mounting inside his body, coiling with each gasp and yell and groan, until he didn't know who was groaning and who was asking for more, their gasps and yells and movements mixing together, as they sloppy kissed and groped and touched–

The walls clenched around him suddenly, and there was wetness on his stomach, and Italy cried his name, sobbing, and he felt the flames inside him uncurl and burn him away.

White engulfed him as he came, holding on Italy's frame with all of his remaining strength, groaning out his name like a prayer, like a sanity anchor.

They fell, boneless, on the mattress, gasping for air, still clutching at each other.

It was only after his brain collected together again that Germany finally found enough strength to cradle Italy's spent form even closer, slipping out from him with a shiver, only to have Italy let out a moan and hold him tightly.

"Feli–"

Then he realised that Italy was smiling against the crook of his neck. "I love you _so_ much, Ludwig…" and then his breathing evened out, eyes fluttering close.

Germany smiled, body still buzzing with the aftermath of his orgasm, and willed himself to go to sleep as well.

After all, they had all their lives to explore this new side of their relationship.

…… _**Owari**_ ……

_**Notes:**_

_Nuremberg Trials:_ (.org/wiki/Nuremberg_Trials), held from 1945 to 1946, right after the end of the second world war, processed and prosecuted members of the political, military and economic leadership of Nazi Germany.

_Herman Göring:_Reichsmarschall, Commander of the Luftwaffe 1935-1945, Chief of the 4-Year Plan 1936-1945, and several departments of the SS. Sentenced to death, committed suicide the night previous his execution.

_Erns Kaltenbrunner:_ highest surviving SS leader. Chief of RSHA 1943-45. Sentenced to death.

_Wilhelm Keitel: _Head of Oberkommando der Wehrmacht (OKW) 1938-1945. Sentenced to death.

In _1946_, the penalty of death were executed by hanging the accused, and then burning the bodies and scattering the ashes away into the river, instead of offering them the more honourable death by the hands of the firing squad.

In _1961_ Berlin wall's construction was started, to separate the city in two parts, the one controlled by West Germany and the one controlled by East Germany. The territories that were under American, English and French control mixed into the Federal Republic of Germany (and West Berlin) in 1949 as result of the pressure by the cold war, whilst the East Germany became known as German Democratic Republic (and East Berlin).

In _1988_ there were rebellions of young punks from East Germany residing on the west side of the wall in the Triangle of Lennè, that in June of the same year passed under West Germany's control. 200 punks climbed the wall, were accepted in East Germany, and after being fed were sent back in West territory through various frontier passages.

_1989–1990_ – the Berlin Wall is slowly being demolished by citizens passing the borders during the end of 1989, then dismantled by the East German military forces in June 1990. In July, East Germany adopts West German's currency and in October, their reunification is formalised.


End file.
